


Between the Lines

by AJWmagickl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Little imagined moments of life in the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJWmagickl/pseuds/AJWmagickl
Summary: This will most likely turn into a collection of one shots.  I like the idea of writing about the small moments we don't get to see with the characters, because being silly, romantic, laughing at nothing, being stupid, one night stands, having those very human moments has got to be even more necessary in the apocalypse than in real life.





	1. Delirium in the Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> This first one is just way short and silly. I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't even post it but I'm stuck on a pretty intense story and need to throw something out into the world. I hope its good for a giggle. (If you don't read the comics, it's probably important to know that the character of Jesus is gay).

Daryl huffed, leaning forward in exasperation.

“STOP. You're doing it wrong. Did you use lube?”

“Yes, of course, I used the oil you gave me, and no, I'm _not_ gonna stop til I get it seated.” Even Jesus appeared to be losing his normally cool demeanor.

“Dammit, ya freakin’ hippie...just pull it out! You’re actin’ like you ain’t never done this before."

Each word that fell from the hunter's lips sounded successively lower, and growlier (if that's possible), and Jesus turned to catch Daryl's scowl, purposely wiping the exasperated expression from his own face.

A few seconds ticked by, the men eyes locked in a mutual glare, until...

“That’s what she said.”, Jesus deadpanned.

Daryl’s lips pursed into a thin line as he stared at the younger man, trying desperately to keep a stern countenance. He failed miserably, and immediately, when Jesus' face bloomed into a huge shit-eating grin.

Jesus moved his hands from the hood of Aaron’s car and took two stumbling strides across the garage. “Made ya laugh!”, he wheezed at Daryl.

The hunter ran his hand over his face, trying to wipe off the smirk on his face that was defiantly curling his lips into a smile. His words stuttered out through shallow breaths as he lost control. “Made…made ya stop!”

Both men doubled over on the floor, howling in laughter. A few seconds later, Eric and Aaron launched through the door from the house, their faces drawn in concern at the foreign sounds erupting from their garage. One look at them sent Daryl and Jesus into a fresh fit of giggles.

Red-faced and wiping tears from his eyes, Daryl rolled onto his back to catch his breath. Jesus, sat a few feet away, in no better shape as he hunched on the concrete floor, long hair hiding his face. His attempts to calm down were thwarted every time he even so much as glanced in Daryl’s direction.

“What the hell is going on?!” Aaron’s voice was incredulous and laced with amusement, now that it was obvious that the sounds coming from the two men in his garage weren’t their dying screams.

One hand over his eyes, Daryl stretched out his other arm toward Jesus and pointed an accusing finger, but he was still not collected enough to speak. That’s when he started to hiccup. Jesus fell forward and pressed his head to the cold cement, holding his stomach, his laughter turning into a high-pitched whimper-wheeze as he tried to breathe.

Now laying on his side, Daryl’s back faced the other men as his body shook lightly, every fifteen seconds or so emitting another small hiccup.

Looking from one man to the other and back, Aaron and Eric realized they weren’t going to get an answer anytime soon. “Well, when you’ve calmed down, come in and get some water.” Eric rolled his eyes and set his hand on Aaron’s shoulder as they retreated inside the house to the sound of even more laughter. It took several minutes for the last of the snickering to die down and the men to be able to face each other.

Jesus sat up first. “Shit, I needed that.”

“Me too.”, said Daryl lazily, finally looking at the other man through the dark fringe of his bangs. The floor of the garage was far from comfortable, but the hunter couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so calm. Maybe never.

Ten minutes passed before Daryl and Jesus decided to call it a day and made their exit through the garage door. They went their separate ways, and Daryl decided that they both needed sleep, maybe some therapy, and that he definitely would not invite Jesus to help him work on the car again. Tomorrow morning, he’d finish changing those spark plugs himself.


	2. Some Sort of Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul listened with his entire body. While his ears took in Daryl's words, he watched the slightly slumped shoulders, the way Daryl's body leaned easily against the front porch post of his home. Even though Paul was not necessarily a believer in things unseen, surviving the world over the past few years had sharpened his intuition like a blade. In those rare moments when he was uncertain about what his five senses were perceiving, he knew he could trust his intuition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little vignette I had hanging around on my computer, something I wrote awhile ago and I thought this would be a good place to put it.

"It don't matter now." Daryl spoke quietly while nibbling at his thumb, his head slightly lowered, calm blue eyes peering at Paul through the eternally tousled dark fringe of his bangs. "Other things are more important. Been that way for a long while." 

He was pleading his case softly but held his gaze firmly on the other man. He wasn't one to speak much but when he did, the hunter meant what he said. 

Paul listened with his entire body. While his ears took in Daryl's words, he watched the slightly slumped shoulders, the way Daryl's body leaned easily against the front porch post of his home. Even though Paul was not necessarily a believer in things unseen, surviving the world over the past few years had sharpened his intuition like a blade. In those rare moments when he was uncertain about what his five senses were perceiving, he knew he could trust his intuition. 

Brushing his long, honey brown hair back with his hand, his sixth sense almost failed him now. If he'd ever been uncertain about anything, it was this puzzle in front of him in the form of a man named Daryl Dixon. It was his own fault, really, for asking the question, knowing that even an honest answer from Daryl would just bring up more questions, and he'd hardly expected the hunter to answer even one. Especially one so personal. 

Paul decided to keep asking questions anyway. Daryl would stop answering when he wanted to, which would probably be any second now, but Paul was too intrigued by the other man's frank answer. He had to at least try to begin unraveling the conundrum that lay behind the stormy eyes of this denim and leather clad man in front of him, even if it took the rest of his probably short life. 

"So...it doesn't matter? Not love? Or sex? Or just being close to someone?", asked Paul, keeping his voice casual so as to hold the conversation on the level of an easy banter rather than a deep discussion. "What matters, then?"

"Trust. Loyalty. Skill." Daryl didn't hesitate in his response, but then he paused. "Family.", He mumbled so quietly that Paul almost didn't hear him. 

"Fair enough," smiled Paul, nodding his head. "But isn't there room for more?" 

Daryl straightened, turning his eyes to the watch post on the west wall of Alexandria. "Time for my shift." he said. He picked up the rifle that leaned against the porch rail and nodded at Paul, effectively ending the conversation as he moved quickly down the steps and toward the tower.

Paul watched him disappear into the fading light of the evening. He laughed softly to himself and shook his head, leaving the porch and setting off in the opposite direction toward Tara's house. 

No one, no one he'd ever met had intrigued, confused, or impressed him the way Daryl had in the short time they'd known each other. Paul was a man who needed to understand what made the people around him tick, but Daryl was no machine to be pulled apart and analyzed, and he was certainly not a product of the same society that Paul and most of the other survivors had lived in before the Turn. 

No, this man was all heart, muscle, bone, and raw emotion; untamed, with a piercing intellect, an instinctual courage, and an uncanny resourcefulness. The confusing part, Paul mused, was that the hunter seemed to have no self-awareness of his attributes, but instead carried the weight of his faults like a yoke. He avoided social situations, seldom made physical contact with anyone, blustered in the face of a perceived slight, and kept to himself more than not. 

Paul couldn't guess at the man's past, and he wouldn't dare ask. He was much more interested in how Daryl's mind worked in the here and now. He didn't even know why it mattered so much, but the need to understand stayed with him most of the time, following him like a raven that would alight on his shoulder whenever he had a moment to think. 

"Oh fuck, have you been hanging out with Daryl again?!"

Paul snapped his head up at Tara's unexpected remark, only to realize he was standing at her front steps. Her legs tucked beneath her in the wooden porch swing, she swung back and forth lightly. He could barely make out her features. 

"I mean, I know it's getting dark but I can feel the dreamy look on your face from here.", she laughed lightly. 

Paul could just see the silhouette of her head tilt as she peered at him. "That's bullshit and you know it." He retorted, slightly annoyed at her errant observation. 

"Okaaaay...", Tara mused, unfolding from the swing and carrying the candle toward door to her house, "but you've been standing there for a good two minutes. Something's on your mind." 

She swung the door open and turned to look over her shoulder. Paul bristled a bit but Tara's smile was sweet and understanding. "Or someone.", she said. Holding the door open, she waited for Paul to climb the steps and cross the porch, motioning him into the house with her free hand. 

Goddammit.


End file.
